


love seizes

by redwolves



Series: the sea seizes [1]
Category: GreedFall (Video Game)
Genre: Bottom Vasco, Cross-Posted on Tumblr, First Time, Fluff and Smut, Love Confessions, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-19
Updated: 2019-09-19
Packaged: 2020-10-24 06:36:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20701550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redwolves/pseuds/redwolves
Summary: Poetry is certainly one way to get someone into bed.





	love seizes

**Author's Note:**

> i know fade-to-black is a mercy to us gamers bc no one wants a repeat of the godawful dragon age: origins sex scenes, but thankfully i am not a game developer and can go nuts with interpretation
> 
> so here you have it, vasco and de sardet's rendezvous scene, also posted on [my tumblr](https://diceyfall.tumblr.com) <3

Vasco confesses with a poem because no one has taught him the words for the things he feels and so he borrows them from another, like a message in a bottle he hopes will find its way to shore.

He receives a smile in return, followed by a kiss on his neck that makes him shudder with its promise.

There is, however, no great revelation.

Tristan De Sardet may have a way with words, but he doesn’t use them here. Instead, he tells Vasco to meet him outside his bedroom in New Sérène, but he speaks nothing of love.

Maybe it was in his kiss, but maybe it wasn’t—the same way that maybe Vasco’s love was in his poem, but maybe it wasn’t. Neither of them, it seems, are willing to say it out loud.

So Vasco sets the matter aside as hours pass by on the road, and finds to his surprise that nothing between them has changed. 

Tristan treats him the same way he always does, with easy conversation and friendly smiles but nothing more than that. By the time New Sérène becomes visible in the distance, Vasco is almost beginning to doubt that his confession and the kiss actually happened.

Everything is normal when they arrive in the city. Normal as Tristan splits from the group to see his cousin, normal as Vasco visits the inn with the others for a bite and a bath, normal as the sun begins to set and Vasco subtly excuses himself to head for Tristan’s residence.

Not so normal when he finds himself the only one there.

Vasco peers up at the stairs leading to Tristan’s bedroom. He’s not used to the house being so quiet, feels almost like an intruder as he hesitates in front of the first step. 

But at this point, what does he have to lose?

He heads up the stairs, making the decision to wait for Tristan as he reaches the landing of the second floor, but once he heads into the hallway he realizes Tristan’s door has been left wide open.

Perhaps a servant who forgot to close it behind them, or perhaps not.

Vasco hears the sound of footsteps and keeps his right hand close to his gun out of habit, but once he stands in front of the doorway and looks into the room, he finds himself at a total loss.

Tristan stands near the windows, where the fading daylight brightens his black curls like a crown around his head, lightening his brown eyes into amber. He’s wearing nothing but trousers, the toned plains of his chest and abdomen completely bare, a soft glow to his skin where the sun touches it. 

“Vasco?” Tristan looks flustered, must not have heard Vasco coming up the stairs as he was dressing. “I didn’t expect…”

He trails off, not that Vasco notices considering his attention is caught on the thin trail of soft hair running down from Tristan’s bellybutton, disappearing beneath the low-riding edge of his trousers. 

It’s not the first time he’s seen Tristan in some sort of state of undress; injuries happen, and from time to time clothing and armor needs replacing as well. During moments like those either Kurt or Siora or both would be fussing over Tristan while Vasco watched with amusement, but nothing more than that.

But now they’re alone in Tristan’s bedroom, and Vasco’s heart is beating fast, and Tristan’s face is slightly flushed, and Vasco wants nothing more than to cross the distance between them to kiss the redness in Tristan’s cheeks.

By some feat of sheer will or perhaps simple embarrassment, Vasco finally manages to avert his eyes and clears his throat. 

“My apologies,” he says, posture stiff and uneasy. He thought that perhaps he’d get the opportunity to finally give voice to what he feels and find out if Tristan might feel the same, but this is different. Feels much different. “I didn’t mean to intrude, I should–”

“Stay,” Tristan says quickly, taking a step toward him but then catching himself, grabbing hold of his wooden bed-frame as if to steady himself. “Please.” 

One word would’ve been enough, but the way he says _please_, with that eager look in his eyes–Vasco could never refuse.

His feet move, every step on the floorboards so loud in the silence and the distance between him and Tristan has never felt so wide before, so slow to cross. 

Four steps, he counts.

Four steps, and he’s standing in front of Tristan who looks like he’s been pushed to the very edge of his self-control, eyes flitting to Vasco’s mouth yet keeping perfectly still.

Vasco lets out a quiet breath and lifts his hand to Tristan’s cheek, a feather-light brush of fingers trailing down to the edge of the mark peeking out from under his beard.

“Are you sure?” Vasco asks.

Tristan cups Vasco’s hand with his own, then turns it a little and kisses the inner side of his wrist. 

“Stay,” he says again, speaking it softly into the quiet space between them warmed over by the sun, and Vasco has never wanted anything more.

They move forward at the same time, meeting each other halfway in the light where their lips press together in a perfect whole, as if they had been made just to kiss. 

Tristan’s arms wrap around Vasco, pulling him flush against his own body and Vasco surrenders to it completely, one hand in Tristan’s hair and the other holding onto his shoulder, feeling like he’s burning up from the inside out.

Vasco has little awareness of how he manages to get his clothes off, but at some point his belt is undone and he feels Tristan yank his coat down. He’s far too preoccupied by the thick bulge pressing against him through Tristan’s trousers, and the way Tristan groans into his mouth when Vasco grinds their hips together.

The friction becomes all the better when they get rid of their trousers and Vasco’s shirt and boots, until they’re both down to their undergarments. Tristan’s skin against his own feels so warm, so good that Vasco didn’t realize how much he’d been craving it before, but now that he has he feels like an addict.

“Vasco,” Tristan sighs in between their kisses, hand sliding down over his spine to his lower back and Vasco moans as Tristan deepens the kiss, tongue and the edge of teeth, hot and wet and somehow still so gentle, so loving.

Vasco barely manages to pull away enough to speak. “The bed?” he asks before Tristan kisses him again with a hum, seeming content to just stand here in the sunlight and kiss him forever.

“I know, I just—” Tristan’s fingers tangle in his hair, pulls it free to grab at his locks insistently, keeps kissing him through his words. “Can’t- stop.”

Vasco would’ve laughed had his mouth not been otherwise preoccupied, and with a hand on Tristan’s waist he manages to maneuver them backwards onto the bed. When he tries to sit down Tristan chases his lips like a man possessed, and Vasco ends up on his back, pressed down into the mattress by Tristan’s weight on top of him.

It’s a tempting idea, to simply lie here and kiss each other until their lips are bruised, but Vasco is far too aroused to leave it at that. If he doesn’t find some sort of release he might actually go mad.

Hands on Tristan’s shoulders, he pushes him off a little, breaking the kiss and leaving them both breathless. Tristan gazes down at him with a dazed look in his half-lidded eyes and reddened, wet lips–the most beautiful thing Vasco has ever seen.

But, unfortunate as it is, they can’t simply lie here and stare at each other for the rest of the evening. Though Tristan is making it very difficult with how he caresses Vasco’s brow, following the lines of his tattoos as if they were precious works of art.

“Oil?” Vasco says, voice rough in his throat, and Tristan blinks.

“Right.” Tristan looks reluctantly at the nightstand, then back down at Vasco. “One moment.”

Vasco remains on the bed while Tristan moves away, leaving him feeling suddenly rather cold. He takes the moment to shimmy out of his undergarments, flinging it aside to the floor somewhere.

As he stares up at the ceiling he smiles as he can _hear _Tristan hurrying, rifling through the drawer before he makes a noise of recognition, having found what he’s looking for.

Vasco props himself up on his elbows to look as Tristan’s weight presses back down onto the bed between his legs, a small bottle of oil in his hand now.

“Do you…” Tristan trails off for a moment as his gaze trails over Vasco’s body, which is somewhat embarrassing—it’s been a while since anyone saw him completely naked, let alone devoured them with their eyes like Tristan is doing right about now.

He seems to catch himself though, refocusing on Vasco’s face. “Are you going to stay on your back?”

If there was ever a way to make him feel extremely self-aware, it would be a question like that.

Vasco averts his eyes, voice quiet when he replies. “Did you… want me another way?”

He feels a hand settle on his upper leg, sliding up his thigh.

“No,” Tristan replies with an adoring smile and Vasco has never seen a man so wholly and incredibly smitten. “This is perfect.”

He leans down to kiss Vasco again, but it’s not as gentle and tender anymore—there’s biting, sucking at his lip, demanding and so intoxicating that this time Vasco almost chases Tristan’s mouth when he pulls away, even though he has to.

It’s been a while for him since he last did this, long enough that even with Tristan’s oil-slicked fingers he feels too tight, unable to ease up until Tristan kisses his shoulder, whispering sweet nothings in between.

“Vasco,” he whispers, just to say his name, and Vasco wants to listen to nothing else but Tristan breathing it against his skin over and over again while he drives his fingers in deeper, stretching him just right.

“Tristan,” Vasco whispers back with a groan in his voice, not certain how much longer he can stand this, so he curves his palms around Tristan’s neck, lifting up his face and looking him in the eyes so he can give shape to his desire with words. “Fuck me.” 

It’s giving his permission because he knows Tristan must be holding back–he is always too considerate in everything–and the moment he says it Tristan’s composure breaks.

He surges down to claim Vasco’s mouth with a singular hunger, his body a bonfire in Vasco’s arms, running so hot Vasco feels like he’s burning up just by being pressed against him, even hotter when Tristan pushes into him and fills him so well, like they’ve done this a hundred times before.

And the _noises_ Tristan makes, ripped out of his throat and caught against his mouth by Vasco’s lips when he starts to move. Tristan breaks the kiss and tries to smother the sounds against the crook of Vasco’s neck instead, which Vasco thinks is unfair since he has no such cover; one deep roll of Tristan’s hips and Vasco’s breath hitches audibly, voice cracking into a broken moan.

The bed begins to creak beneath them as Tristan’s slow and easy motions turn into harder thrusts, and even through the haze of heat and building pleasure Vasco thinks, slightly deliriously, that they forgot to close the door. If anyone walked in right now they’d see him get lovingly fucked into Tristan’s mattress, maybe even hear the obscene sound of skin slapping against skin all the way from downstairs.

Fuck, he’s going to come.

“_Tristan_,” Vasco moans, a breath against Tristan’s curls, lost when Tristan slows down again just to kiss him, sloppy and deep and yet somehow perfect. 

“I have you,” Tristan whispers back, hand slipping down between them and wrapping around Vasco, and it’s not enough and it’s too much all at once.

Vasco comes with Tristan rocking into him and stroking him, inside him and around him and it feels like the best way to drown, so completely lost to him.

He finds clarity the moment right after, when Tristan pulls out to stroke himself to completion with Vasco’s legs still hooked around his hips and his expression twisted into something between pain and pleasure. 

The whimper that falls from his lips as he comes onto Vasco’s stomach is the sweetest thing Vasco has ever heard and he thinks, love-dazed, that there is nothing he wouldn’t do for Tristan.

Tristan breathes out a laugh as he collapses on top of him. “In that case, how about you hold me for a while?” 

Vasco does so without complaint, not having realized he spoke it out loud, but he’s sure Tristan already knew.

They stay on the bed for a while, with Tristan tucked against his side in a sleepy embrace. It’s gotten dark outside by the time either of them feel the need to move again.

“I need to clean up,” Vasco points out dryly when Tristan tries to tug him back down. “You only have yourself to thank for that.” 

Tristan lets him go reluctantly, pouting about it all the while as he claims the bed for himself in Vasco’s absence. He seems content to watch Vasco towel off the mess, put his trousers on and light a few candles, at least for a while.

“Vasco.” 

Snatching his shirt off the ground which somehow ended up on the other side of the room, Vasco turns to look questioningly at Tristan, who is still naked but has a blanket covering him now, reclining back against the pillows.

“Tell me how the poem ends,” Tristan says.

Oh.

Vasco makes his way back to the bed, setting his shirt aside and sitting down as he watches Tristan gaze tenderly at him.

His heart skips a beat when he realizes.

“You know how it ends,” he accuses, flustered, and Tristan smiles wide, leaning over and kissing him again.

“Tell me anyway.”


End file.
